#and when he started refining his skills and learning how far he could go

[luxites]

"Know your place, fool." ⛩

I really want to know more about how he became the King of Curses

[trashytoastboi]

Heyyy could I request Zoro, Ace, Crocodile and Doffy with s/o who practices deadly martial arts(Krav Maga, taekwondo etc)

Hello anon! Sure thing- it's been a very long since I've had time to write any requests and the wheel of fate chose your request first. I hope you enjoy ^^

Headcanons: Zoro, Ace, Crocodile, Doflamingo x S/O who practices deadly martial arts

(Gender neutral pronouns)

 

Roronoa Zoro - Brazilian Jiu Jitsu

⚔️ Zoro wasn’t exactly surprised when you went off to do your training, of course he had never seen it. Since you usually decided to do it alone and with full concentration. As someone who could appreciate those who dedicate themselves to their training and honing their craft, it was definitely a fascinating thing to watch. Especially when it’s different from his own training so he tries to see what he can learn from it as well.  

⚔️ He’s interested and he’s seen you use it in actual combat, of course you’re not doing quite as much of the grappling when you don’t have a partner. It leaves him in awe when you easily take down far larger enemies with ease and expert use of your abilities, he knows it would probably be very hard for him to replicate considering that he lacks the necessary flexibility. 

⚔️ You’ve explained that your particular practice allows you to even the playing field and give you an advantage in multiple ways and options to alter the flow of the fight in ways that would be in your favour. In fact you offered for Zoro to spar with you and experience what you mean, and before he could catch himself. He was already on the floor and near subdued. You did everything before he could even react 

⚔️ Colour him impressed, granted both of you know he would have given a greater struggle had it been a real fight. This was more of a demonstration of what you could do though, and honestly Zoro feels reassured knowing his partner can take care of themselves. He’s always seen your dedication to your training and how tirelessly you work to refine your skills. Plus seeing it in action just proves that you’re plenty strong. 

Portgas D. Ace - Taekwondo 

🔥 Ace is a little bit of a lost puppy at times when he doesn’t know where you are, and he loves going off to find you. He’s curious as to what you’re doing and many occasions he walks in while you’re busy training. However, he won’t disturb you. He’ll sit quietly in the room and just marvel at what you’re doing. Ace loves seeing how focused you can be and how if you fail at one move, you practice it again and again to the point of absolute precision. Sometimes you start slow, almost as if moving in slow motion to get used to the flow of a move before doing it faster and faster till it’s flawless. Ace finds your dedication and utmost discipline for your martial arts to be truly admirable. 

🔥 Sometimes you’ll invite Ace to spar with you, and he’s always more than happy. Ace also knows your strength, and your ability to quickly change with the flow of a fight and how you can turn the tides. He follows your lead, and never holds back. Many times he finds himself being the one led along as you dictate the fight in your own way. Through training with you he’s also learned so much about his own fighting style and a reflection of its strengths and weaknesses. 

🔥 Will occasionally use sparring as an opportunity to lean in and steal a quick kiss from you. It’s probably the only time you intentionally let him slip through your defense. While in training it’s light hearted and sweet; Ace has seen you in action during fights against enemies. Whether one on one or when you get swarmed with a horde of enemies you always keep your cool and easily take each and every one of them down. It’s almost comical how easy you make it look. When you’re practicing, it’s controlled and looks calm but he often forgets just how intimidating your fighting style can get when the situation calls for it. 

🔥 Honestly, he just loves how absolutely badass you look when you show off your skills. You’re not cocky or arrogant about your abilities, but you have confidence in them and for good reason. You put in the hard work and practice everyday and you are self assured with your skills. Ace finds it quite an attractive trait in his partner. 

Sir Crocodile - Krav Maga 

🐊 Sir Crocodile held a lot of interest in you. The things you like, the things you practice, and your hobbies. He’s invested even if he knew nothing about it. He always gave you the time of day and a space to share the things that meant a lot to you. One thing that held a lot of meaning to you- is your martial arts. You enjoyed moving your body and increasing your proficiency. It may have started as a way to increase your strength and protect yourself however it grew into more than that. An art as you called it. Of course most people who saw your martial arts could never deny how effective it was, it was not like other martial arts in having a slight bit more of showmanship. Crocodile liked your style, it was effective. The quickest point from A to B with no waste in between.  

🐊 On more than one occasion he’s seen you fight, and it’s both intentional and instinctual. An odd combo but complementary and impressive as he’d always compliment you. He offers to practice with you, although you tell Crocodile he’s being too nonchalant. He always smiles and gives that low tone of laughter. He means no disrespect, he knows your strength however Crocodile refuses to lift his hands with any intent of violence against you. Even if it’s a spar that you asked for. You can’t berate Crocodile for that. On the few occasions when he has sparred with you, it’s mostly being swept into his pace while he practically pulls you into a dance. 

🐊 Though day after day with unwavering dedication you refine yourself and your skills. Crocodile encourages you to take a day off now and then to allow your body to rest and recover from the physical exertion. You tell him it’s just your daily exercise and it helps prevent you from feeling stiff from lack of exercise. Crocodile respects your decision however he will force you to rest if he can see you’re taking it too far and burning yourself out. 

🐊 While Crocodile didn’t wish to accidentally hurt you during sparring that didn’t mean he didn’t help you. You eventually hit a wall when you fought against logia-type devil fruit users like Crocodile so he opted to teach you how to utilize haki and fight on more even grounds. You felt so bad the first time you got it right because you decked Crocodile straight in the face with everything you had. You remember his black eye and everything. He was never angry or upset, more congratulating you on finally getting right. (You still felt so guilty though) 

Donquixote Doflamingo - Muay Thai

🧶 You had no shortage of strong sparring partners, all of which used different fighting styles and some devil fruit users. It improved your skills a lot to fight against a variety, however the most challenging person was your partner, Doflamingo. He never held back, and would use every dirty trick in the book if necessary. Just when you thought you had a breakthrough with one thing, he’d stop you in another way. He loved your determination and no matter how he defeated you, Doflamingo watched you get up time and time again. Of course he’d make it up to you afterwards, he’d be oh so affectionate and teasingly ask if you’re still mad. Of course you weren’t upset, you improved tremendously with every fight. 🧶 Sometimes you’d have solo training sessions, times when you just wanted to train alone and reflect on your moves. You’d go right back to the foundation and the basics. Reciting the practice moves from when you first started and working your way back up to the more complex techniques and moves. Doflamingo quite enjoyed it when you were doing this, he’d sit and watch you for hours. Endlessly entertained but more than that, he’s intrigued to see your growth. He feels it every time the two of you spar, how you shift and change, adapt to him. 

🧶 What Doflamingo loves even more, is watching you in an actual fight. A true do or die setting, that’s when you really shine. Your practice does contribute, however in sparring he finds your instincts dull- you know there’s no risk. However in a real fight that’s not the case and he watches you intently, when you showcase your true abilities and talents. You’re a well honed weapon by your own design, he finds joy and attraction in seeing how you leave your enemies devastated in the face of power. Power that you earned. 

🧶 Of course if you’re in a pinch, he’ll help you out and tease you relentlessly about it. “Fufu, you needed my help after all?” Doflamingo does quite enjoy teasing you, though you’ve never been discouraged by it. You rather take what he teases you about as a point of constructive criticism and work on it so he can’t tease you again. In his own way he pushes you to do better. Although you sometimes get a little mad at his teasing. 

[sevasey51]

The new chief of trauma dr Lanik doesn’t know your Connors wife and one day he gets a little bit too aggressive at making passes towards her( he puts his hands on her). Connor just happens to see it this time. It has been going on for awhile and she never told Connor because she knows Connor hates him and doesn’t want to cause anymore issues. Connor goes into full protective husband mode.

Crossing the Line

Summary: When Dr. Lanik gets too aggressive with Y/N, Connor steps in and protects his wife, confronting the new chief of trauma and making it clear that no one will disrespect her under his watch.

Y/N had always been professional, sharp, and more than capable in the trauma bay. As one of the senior surgeons in the hospital, she’d learned how to handle difficult situations with composure. Her expertise was well-respected by her colleagues, and she prided herself on keeping things strictly professional—especially when it came to her coworkers.

One person who seemed to take an uncomfortable interest in her, however, was Dr. Lanik, the new chief of trauma. He had an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance, and while most of the staff tried to avoid his more flirtatious remarks, Y/N couldn’t help but notice his increasingly persistent behavior towards her. At first, it was the casual comments. “You’re looking extra beautiful today, Dr. Halstead,” he would say with a grin. But it didn’t stop there. His praise for her skills started to feel more like a way to get close to her. He would find reasons to stand next to her during trauma cases, his breath a little too close, his shoulder brushing against hers as he passed.

Y/N knew what he was doing. But she wasn’t the type to make a scene, especially with how much tension had already been in the hospital since Dr. Lanik’s arrival. She didn’t want to cause trouble for Connor either. He was protective, and she knew how much he disliked the new chief. But at the same time, Y/N couldn’t bring herself to tell him. She didn’t want to make things worse for herself, for him, or for the department.

Today, however, things took a turn. It had been a busy shift—trauma after trauma came through the doors, and the team was stretched thin. Y/N had just wrapped up an intense case and was making her way to the break room when she saw Dr. Lanik standing near the door. He gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Dr. Halstead,” he greeted, stepping into her path, “we need to talk about the procedure we’re doing tomorrow. You’re doing great work, but I think we could refine things a little.”

Y/N gave him a polite smile, already tired from the shift. “I’m sure we’ll have time to discuss it tomorrow, Dr. Lanik. I’m off for the day.” She tried to move past him, but he blocked her path.

“You know, I’ve always admired women who are both intelligent and attractive,” he said, his voice dropping to a tone that made Y/N feel uncomfortable. “It’s a rare combination.”

Y/N’s stomach churned, and she instinctively took a step back, trying to put some distance between them. But before she could react, he reached out, placing a hand on her arm in a way that felt far too familiar.

“You’re not just a great surgeon,” he continued, his voice almost a whisper. “You’re something special.”

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat. She knew she had to get out of this situation, but his hand on her arm was like a vice, holding her in place.

That was when she heard a voice—low, commanding—behind her.

“Get your hands off her.”

Y/N turned her head quickly to see Connor standing at the end of the hallway, his face hard with anger. His eyes were locked onto Dr. Lanik, and Y/N could see the tension in his posture, his fists clenched at his sides.

Dr. Lanik quickly withdrew his hand, a forced smile pulling at his lips. “Connor, I didn’t realize you were here. Just giving y/n a little praise.”

But the way he said it made Y/N’s skin crawl. It wasn’t genuine—it was condescending. And she knew that Dr. Lanik had crossed a line.

Connor didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed focused on Dr. Lanik, his voice low but full of authority. “You don’t touch her. Ever. And you don’t speak to her like that.”

Dr. Lanik, sensing the growing confrontation, tried to deflect. “Relax, Connor. It’s nothing.”

But Connor wasn’t having it. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “It’s not nothing,” he said, his tone colder now. “You’re crossing boundaries, and I’m done letting you disrespect my wife. Keep your hands to yourself, and keep your comments professional. If I see this again, I’ll make sure you’re out of here.”

Y/N stood there, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the two men, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. She knew that Connor was angry, and she hated that he was having to deal with this. But she also couldn’t help the wave of gratitude that flooded her. Connor was always there to protect her, even when she didn’t ask for it.

Dr. Lanik’s smile faltered, his bravado crumbling in the face of Connor’s steely resolve the realisation hitting him. He knew he couldn’t push it any further with Connor standing there. He quickly backed off, his posture defensive. “Fine. But don’t make a scene about it.”

“Next time, I won’t be so nice,” Connor warned, his voice cold and sharp.

As Dr. Lanik walked away, Connor turned to Y/N, his expression softening instantly. He reached for her, his hand gentle on her arm, pulling her close.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

Y/N nodded, though she felt the weight of the situation hit her all at once. “I’m fine now, thanks to you. I didn’t want to make things worse for you. I didn’t want to cause more trouble.”

Connor shook his head, his hand gently cupping her face. “You don’t have to protect me, sweetheart. I’m the one who should be looking out for you. You’re mine to protect.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears as she looked up at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just… I didn’t want to make it harder.”

Connor pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. “You don’t have to apologize for that. But I want you to know that no one gets to make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe. Not him, not anyone.”

Y/N held onto him tightly, feeling a rush of relief and love. She was so grateful for Connor’s support, for the way he always had her back. And for the first time in a long while, she felt truly safe—knowing that no matter what, Connor would always protect her.

[laurynjc-art]

Trial Separation: A BMC One-Shot

I watch as Jeremy hoists the box into his arms and shoves it into the back of his car with the other piles of junk he’s lugging out to college. I’m honestly a little surprised that he’s kept up the whole “impure thoughts = push-ups” thing his squip forced him into last year, but old habits do die hard. I don’t mind. He can finally be useful when we’re at my place and I get a sudden desire to rearrange my bedroom in the middle of the night. And his girlfriend Christine certainly doesn’t mind, either. I have plenty of blackmail from knowing Jeremy for thirteen years, but I’m sure he’ll do anything I ask if I ever threaten to tell Christine why Jeremy wound up a beefcake overnight.

I wish I could say I was part of the junk Jeremy was bringing up to college, but earlier in the year, it was made pretty clear that Jeremy was flying out in the world solo. This was an upsetting realization for both of us- “Jeremy, I don’t think I even know what I want to do with my life.” I’d told him at some point after we took the SATs.

“What do you mean?” He asked. “You’re not going to kill yourself, are you?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know what I want to do with my life.” It was some decision paralysis, mostly; I could do just about anything. Math, science, coding, I know computers inside and out. But the question was: what skills needed more refinement? What could I get by on? Like how I was already taking Calculus 1 as a junior, which is a lot more than some people can say. And what if I wanted to try and learn about something completely new? I’m not much of an artist, my writing is abysmal by Jeremy’s standards… I got to a point where thinking about it for too long made me want to start screaming.

But then at some point I remembered: oh yeah, high schoolers aren’t legally mandated to be shipped off to college as soon as they graduate. And my decisions began to clear up.

I thought about staying home for another year or so to work, bulk up my savings, maybe take some community college classes if I’m really bored. And school blows, maybe breaking up my theoretical sixteen consecutive years of education and giving myself a break would be better for me.

We had a really long discussion one night about this, Jeremy and I. About our lives and what the future might look like. Which sucked for him, I know I was the one hyping him up about college, and now I’m the one having second thoughts and backing out. There was a lot of weed and a lot more crying, all the while my Wii’s menu music served as the background track to our bout of vulnerability.

Eventually, after a good while of silence, Jeremy lit up a roll and said, “You can do whatever you want.” His phrasing and tone scared me, as did the fact he took a long drag on his joint without saying anything else. I worried this was going to be Jake’s Halloween Party all over again, but then Jeremy grinned and looked back at me with more tears in his eyes. I’m not sure if they were genuine or a result of him getting too high. “I’ll always be behind you. And hey, maybe a trial separation is a good thing.”

“You were the one who made me swear that we’d be going together,” I joked.

“Because I’d miss you!” Jeremy wailed. I chuckled, he was definitely too high. “I can’t stand it when you’re home sick from school, what am I supposed to do when we’re actually God knows how far away from each other?”

“Hey. Hey.” I put my arm around his shoulders. “We’ll figure it out. No matter where we end up.”

And finally, I cleared my decision with my moms, who were more than thrilled to let me stay a basement dweller for another year or so.

Jeremy slams the trunk of his car shut and leans on it, looking at me like he’s expecting me to say something.

“Is that all?” I ask.

“Mm-hm.” Jeremy nods, but his lips are pursed in his “I’m sad but don’t want to talk about it so I’m going to just run away and cry” way. Like he thinks I can’t see right through him.

“Do you want to talk?” I ask him.

“No,” is all he says.

“Do you want me to leave so you can cry into your porn?”

“Shut up.” Jeremy takes a swing at me, but I catch his arm and pull him into an embrace. He hugs me back just as hard.

“It’ll only be a few months, Jer,” I say.

“I know,” he replies. I could hear that he was crying, and I might’ve accidentally made it worse by rubbing his back. He sobs, then says, “I’ll just miss you, man.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Jeremy lets me go so he can wipe his face, and a thought crosses my mind that I worry is a bit too coupley, but hey, who decided articles of clothing were only supposed to be exchanged with a significant other, anyway?

So, as if I’d been planning it all day, I untie my jacket from my waist and hand it to Jeremy.

“Here. Now I’ll be going up with you,” I say. Jeremy gasps.

“B-but Michael, this is your favorite!” He objects.

“Well, you’re my favorite.”

Jeremy laughs in a way that’s more like another sob, then says, “What are we, dating in middle school?”

“Good point,” I joke along. “I wouldn’t wear that around Christine, she might get jealous.” Jeremy laughs, really laughs, which makes me laugh, and then I get this pang in my heart because I don’t think it actually registered until now that oh, yeah, we’re not going out into the world together. I don’t know the next time I’ll get a moment like this. I start tearing up a bit and pray that Jeremy doesn’t notice, but of course he does.

“No no, stop,” Jeremy cries, throwing his arms around my neck. I cannot resist picking him up and spinning him around, and we could have stayed locked in our embrace all night if a cold evening wind hadn’t started cutting through us.

“I guess I better go,” I tell him. “Don't… do anything stupid.”

“I’m pretty sure I already cashed in my stupid,” Jeremy smirks, “but yeah. Obviously.”

One more hug, then I’m in my car and waving goodbye to Jeremy through my rear-view window. For a moment, a pit in my stomach forms at the fear that this might be the beginning of the end for us, but I banish it. We’ve separated under worse circumstances and came back together regardless. It’s just a year. He won’t be that far away. And besides, doesn’t distance make the heart grow fonder?

[sillygoofyqueer]

*dragging myself through the pit of exhaustion* Must...post.....mad scientist au...... - all seriousness though, I didn't POST yesterday?!!??! WHY?!?!? Because...BECAUSE!!!....I have no excuse😔😔 I'm just a little they/them who gets overwhelmed by all of the ideas in their head. Like, I was going to write a post yesterday but I was like "where do I even begin?" and screamed n such. Anyway. SHUT UP, FOUR. Okay okay so, Wei Ying is in the Burial Mounds, and he feels as though he has to earn the right to leave. He has so much blood on his hands, he has caused so much harm even if it was unknowingly, he has done so much wrong and will never be able to make up for it. He deserves everything that he is going through, and would let himself rot away in the Burial Mounds if it weren't for the fact that he knows from the whispers of the spirits, of the trees, that there is a war. He may be a monster, an abomination of the blood and guts and resentful energy that paved his path into Hell, but he is still useful. He is smart. He created the beginnings of an entirely new cultivation path at eleven years old, why can't he do it again at seventeen? He's got the knowledge, he has some of his notes, and he's got more than enough materials at his disposal. So, his experimenting begins.

Instead of taking a guilty but "this is the way" approach to resentful energy and the death it causes, Wei Ying seeks to change it. He seeks to have the chance to help every spirit that helps him, in a way that he could not achieve with living humans - mainly because they didn't survive long enough for him to help them. With spirits, he can simultaneously help them let out those wild, confusing feelings, while they help him get revenge on his enemies and be useful. He can learn about the individual spirit no matter what little that is, and give them a way out. Lay them to a peaceful rest after they have assisted him. It still feels exploitative to him, but then the Burial Mounds begins to whisper about how the spirits view him - he is their God, sent from the heavens to help the spirits forgotten by the rest of the world. Spirits that are too far gone to be nothing but overwhelming emotions rush to him and are given the sweet release that death was supposed to provide them.

Wei Ying also refines his skills with the dizi, forcing himself to work through the pain of moving his fingers, a pain that is getting worse with every day he is in the Burial Mounds. He learns how to use his melodies to influence spirits to do anything he wants, calming them out of a screaming rampage through the grounds and sometimes working them into (experimentation comes first, even if he gets attacked in the process). The Burial Mounds is doing Its own creepy version of cheering on Its son, feeling simultaneously proud and in awe of what he is doing right in front of It. How has this boy, this little baby teenager, fallen from the skies and almost died in Its lands, only to force his way back into life with Its help and then immediately begins offering a form of salvation to all of the forgotten, uncared for spirits in the Jianghu.

Now, the crows. "What is their role in this AU?" Well, at first, they're just chilling around, watching Wei Ying stumble around desperately every day, scrabbling for...indescript food in order to survive (yes, it is corpses. Bone marrow, usually. It's not like there's any other food sources aside from the crows, n he can't catch them in his state). They watch as he digs around in these corpses for the bones and then delightedly pick at whatever is left over when the human stumbles off again. Listen, if you've been around for a while, you know that I've learned my fair share about crows....so I know that crows are quite intelligent! They have the minds of toddlers, n they can recognise people - AND hold grudges. That doesn't really add anything to the plot but I just thought it was cool. Anyway, Wei Ying starts offering the food as he's eating it, and they all start eating together so it's pretty chill!

The crows have to return the favour of the chill eating sessions and start bringing Wei Ying cool shit that they find outside of the Burial Mounds, often shiny shit but occasionally there's shit from cultivators and Wei Ying is sometimes whipping similar stuff out, so they bring that as well. The crows like Wei Ying, Wei Ying likes the crows. Simples! Of course, it doesn't take long for the teenager to realise that the crows are brimming with yin energy, and are drawn to his melodies just as much as resentful spirits are, and he does take advantage of this, giving them more food in return for their efforts. As Wei Ying grows more powerful, he feels like it would be necessary to reach out to the outside world, so he starts experimenting with (dead) crows to basically use them as flying cameras to see what's going on outside.

It is Not Good. There most certainly IS a war, and Wen Ruohan's forces far outweigh that of the three major sects & co. "Three?" I hear you saying - YEP. In THIS AU, the Jin side with the Wen. "WHY??" Because Jin Guangshan knows that the Wen have notes of demonic cultivation from the literal genius creator of it, and he (mistakenly) believes that the Wen can and will use them in the war. It's a no brainer for him; they will fall if they do not side with the Wen. Also he sucks and I HATE him and he's power hungry, so he's hoping that he gets information about demonic cultivation if he shows support for the Wen. Don't worry, don't worry, Jin Zixuan and his small band of loyalists (Mianmian I love you, Mianmian I would die for you) are still on the good side, Lotus Pier has taken them in (because they haven't been burned down to the ground this time around)!! The Wens' forces and control, plus the Jins' money and control, equals UH OH. FUCK.

Wei Ying also can't get any read on his precious family - he thinks they're in Qishan, because there's no information implying that they are literally down in the city nearby. He's fucking terrified, but also doesn't want to get them into anymore danger by trying to attempt contact from them if they are alive. He needs to figure out if they're alive. He needs to know whether or not they are safe. How? There was a teenager who did always seem to know everything going on in the Jianghu. Wei Ying just needs to get into contact with him. He puppeteers a crow to nab some paper from a nearby city (just missing a Xue Yang storming down the street after another failure at decoding Wei Ying's notes), and then realises that his hands are far too fucked up to write. The Burial Mounds tries to help, but Its hands (even more exaggeratedly wonky and fucked up than Wei Ying's) are not helpful. THIS is where the crows get their true calling.

They're already brimming with yin energy, and that's only heightened through their time in the Burial Mounds, so it can be reasonably implied that they are smarter than a toddler depending on how much resentful energy they are exposed to and how long they have been in the Burial Mounds. They see Wei Ying desperately using his fingers dipped in blood (nobody's really selling ink and calligraphy brushes in these wartimes so they can't be nabbed, okay??) to try and write something, and they (sort of) learn as he writes. So, while he's passed out after so long of not sleeping, they take matters into their own wings and start scratching out the message with the blood and their claws (so much neater than what Wei Ying was dropping). Then they send a crow out with that message out to the first war camp they find, listening out for the name of the person they're searching for, and basically bombard this guy with both the message and their presence.

Meanwhile, Nie Huaisang gets attacked by a crow while he's supposed to be taking his mind off worrying over his da-ge out on the battlefield with a walk. He's at first confused and offended and rather scared (did he insult the crows somehow??) but then he realises that there's some sort of scroll clutched in the crow's grasp. He opens it, fully expecting it to be some sort of death threat rambling slur filled letter (okay so maybe not that but who knows what's going through his mind??) and finds a simple message. "My sect was filled with monsters, but I had a family. Ensure their safety, and I will ensure your victory."

It seems as though Wei Wuxian is not dead.

[spicyraeman]

ᴏᴄꜱ - ᴛʜᴇɴ & ɴᴏᴡ

Saw a buncha chooms doin this lil trend and remembered that I had an old draft doing this very thing! Spiffied it up with even newer shots of my babes and it really makes me realize how far both me and my OCs have come :]

March 25, 2022 || June 24, 2023

The shot on the left is legit my very first oc shot in cyberpunk. Id taken some landscape shots before this but this was where the blorbo brainrot started. Vons definitely come the farthest in terms of design, from big beefy maelstrom to like.. wet rat white boy energy I guess lol. She still got a long way to go though, probably gonna be working on her forever, she's my favorite little passion project😌

June 2, 2022 || June 2, 2023

Didn't even realize these were exactly a year apart till I checked the dates!

Luis is basically the exact same as when I first made him, just the perfect design from the moment of creation😌He's the OC that really started my VP journey, I made him just to take pretty pictures of and learn the ropes. Glad I finally have the skills to show off his full beauty!

September 12, 2022 || June 14, 2023

Lynk's design is one that feels both entirely different and very much the same to me. Same overall vibe and style, but more refined I suppose. Less scrungly mess of wires and more sleek and sharp borg. Really love their current design now, still wanna make 'em custom tattoos but it gonna be a while till i'm at that modding level!

December 12, 2022 || June 1, 2023

Dallas was a design first backstory second kinda OC. I love her old design, think all the cyberware and makeup are really cool, but as I fleshed her out it just wasn't Dallas. Found myself in a comfy spot with her now though, even ended up making her her own custom complexion!

December 5, 2022 || July 9, 2023

Technically there's an even farther back design I could use for Sunny but it's so different I can't even consider it him. His old design looks so similar yet so very different its kinda weird😅Sunny's design now is probably the one I'm most content with, I might try and add back his arm tattoos but until then he's pretty much perfect.

December 8, 2022 || April 23, 2023

When I first made Midas my main goal was a dark moody playboy, which definitely stayed the same just in a radically different way. His OG personality was a playful and dramatic womanizer which I loved but I needed a straight man in this group of idiots and he had to be it. So instead he became a mysterious and gruff guy that has ladies falling over him whether he likes it or not, also he's a vampire now.

[jalabharmooton]

The Road to Spymaster, for other Jalabhar information follow the tag here.

By the time Jalabhar Mooton ascended to his role as Lord of Maidenpool, he was already a master of the unseen currents that shaped the Riverlands. His formative years spent on the rivers had provided him more than just the skills to navigate waterways; they had given him a network of informants—fisherfolk, traders, innkeepers, couriers, and even smugglers—who trusted him as one of their own. These were not just faceless commoners to him; they were his allies, his eyes and ears across the Riverlands. He understood them because he had grown up alongside them, learned from their struggles, and earned their respect.

Jalabhar’s deep understanding of trade and negotiation allowed him to leverage Maidenpool’s position as a vital hub of commerce. The city sat at the crossroads of land and water, where goods flowed in from the Crownlands, the Stormlands, and the Reach before making their way up the Trident. He turned this geographic advantage into a tool of influence, using wealth and opportunity to secure loyalty and information. Yet, his most valuable skill wasn’t in haggling or trade—it was his empathy and ability to connect with people from all walks of life. Jalabhar understood the fears and hopes of the smallfolk as deeply as he grasped the ambitions and schemes of the nobility. This duality makes him a formidable spymaster, capable of navigating the delicate balance between power and the people it governed.

Even as a boy, Jalabhar had a knack for turning situations to his advantage. Though he had little love for fighting, he quickly realized he didn’t need to throw punches to win a conflict. “Fights aren’t always won with your own fists,” he would say, a lesson he first learned among the canoe kids. While the other boys scrapped over fish or grudges, Jalabhar devised smarter ways to come out on top. He started paying other boys to protect his catches or sell them on his behalf, turning a simple rivalry into a budding enterprise. By the time he was barely into his teens, he’d figured out how to turn disputes into profit, leaving others to do the dirty work while he reaped the bulk of the rewards.

Jalabhar’s natural curiosity often drew him to the edges of conversations meant for older ears. He was the sort of boy who could go unnoticed in a crowded inn, sitting quietly as adults exchanged stories or secrets over mugs of ale. With sharp ears and an even sharper mind, he learned to collect and store bits of information like coin, always waiting for the moment he could spend it. He started small, selling scraps of gossip to sailors for trinkets or extra bread to gift to Canoe Kids with nothing, always earning the loyalty and favors from other. Later, he began to approach smugglers, memorizing their routes and clients, and occasionally brokering deals between them and merchants in need of “unofficial” goods.

“I have a deal for you,” he’d say, always with a boyish grin that belied the steel behind his words. It became something of a trademark phrase for him, even as he grew older. Jalabhar didn’t just offer deals—he offered solutions, opportunities, and a way forward that benefited everyone involved. He quickly learned that people were willing to overlook a great deal if they thought they were getting something valuable in return. This talent for negotiation and persuasion would later serve him well in both trade and espionage.

When he became Lord Mooton, he didn’t abandon the lessons of his youth. Instead, he refined them, turning Maidenpool into more than just a city of trade—it became a city of secrets. His network extended far beyond the pink stone walls of his seat, reaching into taverns, guild halls, docks, and castles across the Riverlands. Jalabhar’s strength wasn’t just in gathering information; it was in knowing how to use it. Whether it was uncovering a rival’s scheme, striking a bargain with a noble, or protecting his people from unseen threats, he operated with the precision of a man who understood that knowledge was the sharpest weapon of all.

Even now, as the quiet and unassuming spymaster of the Riverlands, Jalabhar carries the lessons of the river with him. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to be heard, nor does he need to brandish a blade to win a fight. Instead, he leans back in his chair, folds his hands, and says with a knowing smile, “I have a deal for you.”

[nathanlee05]

Blooming

Nathan Lee

Feb 18, 2025

At first, writing felt like a chore—an obstacle I was forced to overcome rather than a skill to embrace. But over time, it became a powerful tool for self-expression, growth, and understanding, shaping me into the person I am today.

My earliest memories of writing date back to the second grade. From tracing letters to forming simple sentences, I remember struggling while my peers completed assignments with ease. It took me twice the effort just to keep up, and frustration often consumed me.

For a long time, I blamed my difficulties with English on my family. Both my parents are first-generation immigrants from Korea—my father came to the U.S. for his graduate degree in theology, and my mother pursued her college education. They met at the University of Kentucky and built a life together, raising me in a household where Korean was the primary language. So when I started school in a small, predominantly white rural town, it was a culture shock. I was immediately ostracized���not only for how I looked but also for how I spoke and struggled with English.

School became something I despised, and writing was even worse. Throughout elementary and middle school, I was pulled out of class for extra English and writing lessons while my peers advanced in subjects I longed to study. However, over the years, my resentment toward English and writing gradually transformed.

Eventually, I realized that blaming my family for my struggles was both foolish and selfish. The person I once held responsible for my challenges—my father—became my greatest inspiration. After completing his two years of mandatory military service in Korea, he flew to the U.S. with the dream of earning an American visa and becoming a missionary in China. Though his goals shifted over time, his determination never wavered. Despite English being even more challenging for him than for me, he devoted himself to preparing sermons every Sunday, moving audiences with his words. Now, he is recognized internationally and invited to speak in different countries. Witnessing his perseverance made me understand that my writing difficulties weren’t rooted in my upbringing or background but rather in my lack of determination and passion.

That passion finally surfaced during my freshman year of high school when I applied for the student senate. Running for office required me to deliver speeches to my grade, and for the first time, writing felt natural—words flowed smoothly because I was deeply invested in what I had to say. When I won the election, I realized that writing could be enjoyable. The following year, I ran again, refining my speechwriting skills and securing the position once more. By my junior and senior years, I was delivering speeches to the entire school as vice president and president. My love for writing continued to grow, culminating in my senior year when I was elected to speak in front of 1,500 youth students at a statewide Youth in Government event.

This image is crucial to my narrative for this was one of my biggest achievements in my writing career. With many struggles and obstacles that I have gone through with writing and english, this shows the audience of where I am today, and what kind of impact my father had on me, inspiring me to move out of my comfort zone and go out and achieve something that I am passionate about.

Photo from Youth In Government, I am in the center, talking to over 1500 students.

Taken by my younger brother, Caleb Lee

Looking back, I am incredibly proud of how far I have come. The eight-year-old me would have never imagined that writing—once my greatest struggle—would become my greatest tool for self-expression. Through writing, I have learned that passion and perseverance transcend language barriers and cultural differences. More importantly, I now recognize that my father’s struggles and determination paved the way for my own success, teaching me that anything is possible with hard work and resilience.

[tarnishedxknight]

Gabranth was thus far very impressed with Gylfie. When he’d corrected her, she hadn’t gotten angry or upset, she’d simply acknowledged it and focused on doing better next time. Being a good soldier, a skilled warrior, was not about knowing everything right from the start. It was about gaining knowledge, experience, and having the sense to know that what you’re doing isn’t working. With all that information, the best of the best evolved and adapted, while those destined either for an early retirement or death continued to try the same tactics and expect different results. Gylfie was clearly not only willing to learn but capable of it, and the deeper they got into this qualification match he had neglected to tell her this actually was, the more he could see that hotheaded impertinence from earlier melt away into determination and focus.

She… reminded him of himself, many years ago, when he was only starting out. He had pride, intelligence, and natural talent for days but he lacked knowledge and experience. The more those around him criticized instead of instructed, and mocked instead of understood, the angrier he’d gotten… and the more dangerous to deal with. But Drace’s notice of him, and the way she was able to force others to pay some well-earned attention to him despite her own young age at the time, had been his saving grace. He’d become hopeful that his insistence that he was worth something was actually true. Until that point, he’d said it only in defiance, afraid deep down that there might not be as much truth to it as he’d hoped. But Gabranth knew the value of one voice, just that one person who noticed him and told him he was *worth their time.* That he could make something of himself. If Gylfie needed that sort of support now, then he was happy to pay forward what he’d been granted so many years ago.

What Takrin might have seen as aggression in Gylfie, Gabranth saw as a combination of passion and a desire to be seen. That her heart was in this, that this was what she was meant to do with her life, was plain to see to him, but it had not been to Takrin and many others, apparently. If Gabranth was going to say that Gylfie ought to fail based on aggression, passion, or anything else anyone wanted to call it, then he ought to have failed permanently years ago and been slumming it still on the streets of Old Archades. He was interested in refinement and perfection, nor was he interested in someone who only did what they were told. Discipline was important, yes, but so was raw ability, and that sort of inner fire few possessed. He saw both in Gylfie, just from the short time he’d been working with her. Why could Takrin not see the same in his own daughter? Either the man was in denial or he saw it well enough… and ignored it.

Oh… the sheer delight that sparkled in her gaze hurt his heart with a pain that was personal and old. How many years had he ached to be noticed? All through his boyhood and adolescence, and into his time in the Imperial military, to be sure. He’d felt that same gratefulness, that same burst of excitement each time Drace commended him. To finally be seen… after one felt invisible for so long… One had to experience that kind of invisibility to understand the joy of it being removed. But this pain was alright. It was only a memory, the scars being tugged at after being permitted to heal taught for many years. The memories may hurt him, but to know that he may very well be ending someone else’s pain beginning today… that felt good. He was glad for her, silently hoping that today was the beginning of a new stage of Gylfie’s life. He simply nodded at her thanks and willingness to improve, acknowledging it respectfully before moving on.

She handled both scenarios well, which told him not only that she was telling the truth and truly had been managing the sorts of students she said she had, but also that she was intelligent and thinking on her feet in the moment. Both would serve her well. What threw off others hoping to rise in the ranks didn’t throw Gylfie off. If something didn’t work, she tried again. If she failed, she tried something different. If she wasn’t good enough, she improved. In his mind, Gabranth was checking boxes, approving of each detail that one of the rank of Judge ought to be capable of.

As they began their free spar, he was impressed with how swift she was. Being a larger, well-built man and clad in armor that was quite significantly heavy, his days of being as swift as she was had been over years ago. But that speed was a definite advantage over him, just as his size, strength, and experience were advantages over her. Her inexperience, in a strange way, was also an advantage, for with experience came the irresistible lure of falling into habit and patterns with regard to one’s fighting style. Sometimes, the unpredictability of someone who had yet to solidify their own patterns could throw a seasons veteran like himself off kilter. Given all of this, they were fairly evenly matched, though he was holding back just a bit so as to be safe with her. This was a friendly bout, after all, and no bloodshed should result.

She may not have seen his moves coming, but she thought quickly and caught each one of them, albeit at the last second. That mattered little, though. Whether one caught something expertly or as a result of last-second adaptation to the moment, the attack was still blocked, and that was what mattered. Her speed and focus were impressive. At least… until he began to see a crack in her otherwise strong exterior. Gabranth would notice it anywhere, the fact that he’d triggered her. He wasn’t sure exactly how, or for what reason, but he saw the flash of panic in her eyes and heard her breath catch in her throat and-… oh, he knew well that feeling. That rush of tingly, cold panic. The narrowing of one’s vision and quickening of heart and lungs as they struggled to keep up. He knew it so well. But before he could end the bout, Gylfie was rolling away and facing him with determination once more, pushing past whatever it was that had, for a moment, triggered some sort of past trauma in her.

Well then… If she didn’t want to end the sparring match, then he wouldn’t end it either. And with this reaction, she impressed him even further. Soldiers had trauma. It was practically a certainty. No one reached the ranks of Judge and higher without accumulating a long list of close-calls and traumatic moments. For Gabranth, that list held several things that had nothing to do with battle at all, but… that was beside the point. He wondered if he would find in Takrin’s failed qualification reports on his daughter that her trigger was a disqualifying factor. Gabranth’s opinion was that if it had truly been disqualifying, Gylfie would have gone into a full panic attack, which she did not. There would have been time for him to back away and end the bout, and there had not been. And lastly, it would have affected her subsequent fighting which, as he soon found out, it did not. Besides, he would have been a hypocrite if he ever said that someone battling a significant amount of trauma ought never to hold a high rank. He’d fought all his life to prove everyone otherwise. Perhaps Gylfie was fighting to do the same.

It was unexpected of her to try and bind one of his swords, because it was a brazen attack that not many were willing to attempt against him. Most who faced him were simply trying to stay alive, but Gylfie was actually trying to best him on skill. He was able to keep her from binding his weapons, but when her strategy changed to hooking his armor, he suddenly found one of his arms being yanked by the tine of her dagger. It caused his footing to falter for a moment from the unexpected forced momentum forward, but as soon as he realized what was happening, he swept upwards with the smaller of his two blades, unhooking the dagger as he pushed her back. As he saw her struggled to keep her footing from his forceful push, Gabranth expected Gylfie to reset her stance or at least back up, but… no. Instead, she redoubled, performing an excellent deflection and attack that made contact with his armor with a loud clang! This time, it was his side that was struck, and yet again, a dent remained where her attack had been successful.

He chuckled out of pure amusement and broke form, smiling underneath his helm. It was not a condescending chuckle by any means. No, he’d been pleasantly surprised by her tenaciousness and skill. “Enough,” he called, since they were both breathing hard by this point. “Very well done, Ynarra.” He meant it. She’d impressed him, and more importantly, she’d met the specifications of the rank of Judge as far as he could see. “Let us sit and talk a while as we take our rest,” he said, gesturing towards some benches on the side of the training ring. As he walked towards them with her, he reached up and slipped off his helm. It was likely the first time she had ever seen him without it. The removal of a Judge Magister's helm did not happen often, but whenever it was done in public, or near-public as it was now, it was meant as a sign of respect. In his opinion, she’d earned a bit of personal candor from him, and all this time, she’d been without a helm and exposed. Reciprocation in this manner was not at all required or something he gave to many, but he’d earned her respect, and they were alone at present anyway. He set his helm down on the bench then sat, laying his swords down on it as well.

“I’ve seen enough here from you today. I will prepare the necessary paperwork for your advancement to the rank of Judge,” he said, knowing that she was likely to be shocked to realize this was a qualification in the first place. As he spoke, he adjusted his armor, looked over this and that, and casually look out at the field before them. “However, since you have failed before, and I am not your original evaluating superior, I wish to do everything by the book, so that there will be no misunderstanding. I will review the forms for your previous failures and see what points your father cited. Since this was an impromptu qualification exam and I had not the opportunity to review the forms previously, what I am going to do is pass along your paperwork and refer you to my trusted friend and colleague, Judge Magister Drace. She will review everything and perform an additional qualification to be sure to address whatever points on which you were failed previously. So you will need to follow up with her and schedule that exam. Should you pass a second time, which I am certain you will, we will both sign your advancement and promotion forms. That way, there will be no question as to your passing this time, and no room left for future argument on the subject.”

He was saying without saying that he didn’t want there to be any argument left, any stone unturned, any room for question, or else he knew her father would no doubt speak up and raise hell about all this. Gabranth was perfectly capable and possessed enough authority to qualify Gylfie if he wanted to, but adding Drace’s name to her forms would add extra weight and insurance against Takrin trying to get the qualification overturned.

With all of that said, he now looked over at her directly. “It was a pleasure crossing blades with you this day, Gylfie Ynarra. My time was far better spent here than it would have been at the gala. I do not envy Drace her time there.” The quickest, slightest ghost of a smile came to his lips. “You have skill and promise. Keep training and perfecting your craft, and someday I’ve no doubt you will achieve the rank of Judge Magister, if that be your desire.” A pause, and then, “Trust in yourself, not in the nay-sayers. You know you are capable,” He nodded once with conviction. It was something Drace had told him years ago, and he’d never forgotten it.

Gabranth nodded slowly as she told him that she took her job seriously and took great pride in making sure she trained the soldiers as best she could. It was, perhaps, what any instructor might have said to a Judge Magister on the subject, for no other answer would do. However, when she said it, Gabranth believed her. There was an authentic determination behind her words that could not be replicated with words that were merely parroted for the sake of approval. "Good. As well you should," he said. "It is no trivial responsibility, as you say, indeed."

When he called her by what he'd assumed to simply be her title, however, he immediately notice her bristle from it, regardless of how well she tried to hold it back. Something... was not right here, and he did not have to wait long to find out. She was not a Judge? Only a guard and an instructor? And yet she sparred with them in the same training ring. "Nonsense," Gabranth said rather dismissively. "If you are permitted to train with Judges, then you ought to be at least of their rank. It is a safety issue otherwise," he said matter-of-factly. "So either you hold a post above your rank here," he continued, glancing out across the field, "or there has been an oversight in the progression of your qualification process."

An oversight. More like an intended exclusion, Gabranth thought. Knowing Takrin and the man's rather offensive brand of toxic masculinity, he could easily see where the... oversight... had been. Oh, he was not nearly as bad as Bergan or Vayne in matters of sexism, but he was a repeat offender all the same. For now, though, he said no more on the subject. He would let the friendly bout between them speak as to the nature of her situation. There was greater truth in battle than in words, he'd learned in life.

Gabranth nodded yet again, just once, as she thanked him and promised that his wait would be worth it. A interested and slightly playful smile came to his lips beneath his helm, not that she could see it. "I am certain it will, Ynarra," he returned before ending the conversation for the time being in favor of going to train alone.

He gave some attention to using Chaos Blade and Highway Star when they were joined into one double-bladed weapon, for that was a form he didn't use as much. Unless he was surrounded by enemies and needed to sweep the field, or was facing an opponent with significant reach on their weapon, Gabranth often defaulted to using his swords separately. Oh, but what fun it was to use them combined. There was a heaviness and an exhilarating momentum that was to be found in the spinning, sweeping motions and the counterweighted leverage of the weapon's movement that simply could not be felt when it was made two.

He enjoyed himself, but more importantly, he got his mind off of the fact that there was a gala going on at which he was probably being spoken about... and not altogether favorably. The disadvantage of not being there was that he could not defend himself against ridicule and suppositions tossed about and attached to his name. Drace would try, and he loved her for that, but she would also tell him what had been said... and by whom... which was a far better prize. That didn't mean he wasn't going to be a bit antsy until it was over, however.

When he saw Gylfie approaching, he broke form, relaxed his stance, and upon seeing that she had chosen dual weapons herself, separated his own two swords. "Good," he said, acknowledging that she was ready. "Now then. Before we spar freely... indulge my curiosity for a moment." He held his swords at his side and wandered a little bit, taking what appeared to be a rather childish and aggressive swipe at the air, so swift that it was audible, as he walked in a half moon to come back around to face her. "I am a naive, overconfident, arrogant greenhorn, and I think I know better than you. No, I know I do." He laughed condescendingly, but clearly as part of an act. He wasn't toying with her, he was setting up a scenario she might face in her classes. "How do you handle me? I am disrupting your class and drawing your attention away from others." He stopped wandering about and took a fighting stance with one leg forward, blades held at the ready. "And I am itching for a fight to prove myself. What tactics do you use to instruct me?"

It was a far more complicated question than just... fight me... and a question someone below the rank of Judge might struggle with. The higher ranks learned and perfected things like strategy, adaptation, quick-thinking, and reading one's opponent while the lower ranks struggled merely to perfect the movements of their feet, arms, and weapons. To Gabranth's delight, Gylfie seemed to not hesitate all that much in her answer. She began her own act, appearing as though she was a bit rattled by his behavior. "Come on, instructor!" he yelled, in the fashion he'd seen so many upstarts do when their egos were far bigger than their brains. "Or are you afraid?"

He knew what she was doing, that was the problem. He could see it all too well, the openings she was giving him, the missteps and hesitations made to look like honest mistakes. They were anything but. But he came at her with all the inexperienced broadcasting a greenhorn would have granted her, letting her know in his body language without actually saying exactly when and how he was planning to attack. And when she fell out of her deception and sought to get the upper hand, he came out of his, and deftly blocked her attack, pushing her back a bit with the impact of their blades. "Too obvious," he said, no longer in his ruse. He was instructing, not criticizing. "That may work on greenhorns, but not of those of more experience. Reset... and again," he said with a nod, backing up a little and resetting his own stance.

He'd been impressed by the complexity of her attempt, if not by the execution of it, but it hadn't harmed his opinion of her or her skill as of yet. There was a reason he was asking the hard questions now, rather than just engaging her in a free spar. This way, her mind was occupied with the puzzle of what he was asking, rather than by her own nervousness at facing a Judge Magister, or her earlier annoyance at his intrusion into her work. This would help break the ice and loosen her up, he knew, and so he hadn't expected all that much from her first, admittedly stiff attempt.

Gylfie's second attempt was a far superior one. She'd actually managed to land a blow on his arm, on the lower part of his pauldron. The clan of her blade slamming into his Judge Magister's armor caused him to immediately stop, break stance, and look at where she had hit. There was an actual dent there, and he might even have a bit of a bruise by tomorrow. None of that bothered him at all. His armor had been repaired and hammered out more times than he cared to admit, and bruises were something he endured on an almost daily basis. He could see on Gylfie's face, though, that she thought this to be a nail in her coffin. Though... he had been delighted by her initial pride in herself for having landed the blow in the first place. "Well done," he said simply, letting her know as much that he approved of her ability as he was telling her that he was not angry about the dent in his armor.

It was time for the next scenario. "Now... I am one of your better students, disciplined and hard-working, up for a qualification match. I've learned from you very attentively, to the point of near-mimicry of your form in my own. How do you begin the match?" This time, he tried to emulate and mirror whatever Gylfie threw at him, as if a student's flattery had resulted in careful imitation. She handled this decently, and although she did not manage to land a blow this time, there were no major errors or vulnerabilities left unguarded that he could see. "Good," he said respectfully after a few minutes of this, breaking form once more. "Thank you for indulging me, Ynarra," he added. With a slide of one blade over the other, a metallic ringing tone resulting, he now held a more open stance. "Now let us spar freely for a time," he said, giving her free rein to fight as she pleased.

[sunsblaze]

continued from here

@fallesto - Michikatsu

Yoriichi wasn't completely oblivious to his brother's plight; he knew Michikatsu, and he knew his brother yearned to be stronger- he yearned to learn the breath of the sun. What he failed to realize were the lengths his brother would be willing to go to in pursuit of that strength and how much it bothered him that he fell short.

However, there was never a moment where Yoriichi thought himself or his skills superior to Michikatsu- he looked up to his elder brother; when he was younger, he wished to be just like his brother- he wanted to be a samurai. The day he realized that wish wouldn't come to fruition was that day he landed a blow on the instructor who had been training his brother. He knew then that he would never be able to brandish a blade against another human; the pain and guilt left behind after harming another living being was far too much to bear.

A part of Yoriichi knew that Michikatsu would be unable to learn the breathing form he himself had perfected, for there was something in those who had successfully learned sun-breathing that his brother lacked. It surely wasn't skill; he knew his brother was a talented swordsman, a true warrior, more fierce than he could ever dream to be...It was that same warmth that resided in Yoriichi's heart, that gentle kindness that seemed to slip through Michikatsu's fingers, the key for pushing his strength further. Without hope, without the genuine desire to protect innocent lives, Michikatsu was sure to come to a standstill on how far he could push his skills.

"And yet I still feel as if I never push hard enough..."

So many seemed to place him on this metaphorical pedestal, viewing him as if he was some sort of demi-god and his strength as if it were a gift from the heavens. Some had even told Yoriichi that he had been gifted this strength by the goddess Amaterasu but what they usually failed to see was that he was a man; simple and mortal. He could bleed and die like anyone else. He had a limit to what he could do. This strength so many saw as a blessing somehow came to feel like a curse.

"Michikatsu..."

Yoriichi was not opposed to taking Michikatsu under his wing to help shape his skills and refine his technique, but he knew this wasn't the moment to have the conversation; he was in no shape to start training his brother. If Michikatsu gave him more time, Yoriichi would help him build upon his own breathing style.

"The others have not failed me...nor will you. Some cannot learn another's fighting style and simply need to develop their own."

It was indirect, but Yoriichi was talking about his twin- he believed Michikatsu to be too obsessed with strength and power.

[naoyas90dayfiance]

Would you be willing to do some cute headcanons for Naoya and Ranta who are both trying to impress the same love interest? :3c Love a good competition. - Lokescurse.

Of course bestie uwu ❤️

I love these two, they're so different.

Naoya Zen'in and Ranta Zen'in trying to impress the same love interest HCs

Ranta Zen'in

When Ranta is interested in someone, at first he might feel shy and just look at them from afar.

However, after a day of planning in his head what he can do to get your attention, he comes to the conclusion that he wants to introduce himself.

On the first introduction he was not subtle, his eyes were on you all the time, he had the biggest smile on his face when he told you his name. After that, he followed you around and asked personal questions.

And the thing is that you didn't even notice you were having a "personal conversation" because it just felt right. He was so charming and kind. Everyone who saw you two talking could clearly see that you were enjoying your time together.

Another thing Ranta does to get your attention is to be around when you need it.

If he sees you having a hard time with something, he's there to help you; if you tell him you need some help with anything, he's going to do it for you.

And he only wants some time with you in return. Seeing you smile and listening to your stories makes his day better.

The Zen'in family starts to notice that you two actually spend a lot of time together, and the women say that you would be a wonderful couple.

But Naoya doesn't think the same.

Naoya Zen'in

Oh boy, you had to catch Naoya's attention, didn't you? Get ready, baby.

If Ranta got his flirting tactics from the Sweetheart book, Naoya got them from the Caveman and Gentleman book.

Naoya trying to get your attention goes in two ways:

1. He's going to make sure you see him provoking others, so you can see the power he has on others

This means he's provoking Ranta, his uncle, his cousins, his brothers and every single person crossing his way. If you're within sight, he's going to provoke them until they lash out and it leads to a short fight that he'll win. It's his way to show you that he's the man in charge.

2. He's going to show you how refine he is.

You're going to listen to him playing the piano, he's going to show you his paintings, he might even ask for your opinion (as an excuse to show off) about his poetry writing skills. He wants you to know how artistic he is.

If you don't fall for this, then his last resource is to invite you to use the weapons of his family. Just look at how great the Zen'ins are! Don't you want to be the spouse of the head of the clan?

And he's not stopping there, he knows those robes don't do him justice. So he's asking you every afternoon to spend some time with him and learn how to use each weapon.

Ignore him taking off his shirt, flexing his muscles all the time, and even holding you a little bit too close to the point you can feel his breath on your ear and his perked nipples on your back.

"Sorry, I didn't hear what you said," Naoya said as he leaned closer until his hair was caressing your own, your clothes now wet with his sweat.

And of course, darling, after a day of training your muscles must be so sore. Why don't you lay down and let Naoya give you a massage with his strong hands? He can be so caring too, isn't he the perfect husband?

This man is a menace.

Ranta Zen'in and Naoya Zen'in competing for your love

Now that we established what these two are doing, if they happened to like the same person then it's not going to be pretty.

Naoya DOES NOT like to see you smiling and giggling with his cousin when you're baking something for the Hei and Kukuru Squad.

And Ranta isn't found of the way Naoya snuggles with you when you're training.

Sadly, the one who has the power here is Naoya. And he's doing everything he can to keep Ranta away from you, the young sorcerer will go on missions to other areas, will train way too far from where you are and he even had to move to another room that's miles away from yours and Naoya's.

But hey, love and kindness shall prevail. So Naoya isn't happy when you suddenly ask "Have you seen Ranta?"

Or when Ranta and you run into each other and you're hugging way too tight for Naoya's liking.

Ranta might be innocent and cute, but he's not stupid. Of course he kept his friendship with you through texting and video calls. And that's something Naoya didn't take into account.

The dynamic between these two is one of Naoya taking advantage of his power position and Ranta innocently becoming more and more sneaky.

The question now is: what are you going to do 👀?

Requests for cute headcanons with the Zen'in men (Naoya, Naobito, Ranta, Jinichi, Ogi and grandpa fjdk) are still open (◕ᴗ◕✿)

[winchesterxxi]

A Link (Din Djarin x Reader)

Rating: PG-13

Type: Angst

Request: “Fic request - reader is a Jedi ( untrained) and Luke requests she also joins him. She has to choose between leaving Din or going with the child. After watching that episode I’m already depressed as hell so the more angsty the better!”

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: CH.16 SPOILERS

A/N: What’s the most depressing love song you can think of? Play it.

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

You’d never think this rescue mission would lead to this. The plan was to get in, rescue Grogu, get Moff Gideon and walk out - the less damage the better. Needless to say, things didn’t go exactly according to plan, not in a single way.

But you definitely were not expecting an X-Wing to land on the ship and for a Jedi to walk out of there. Not any Jedi: Luke Skywalker. You’d heard a few gossips here and there about how he was the last great one of his kind, but you couldn’t predict that he’d sense Grogu and come get him. Ashoka? Sure. Luke Skywalker? Not in a million years.

It all happened so slow yet so quickly. One minute Grogu was in your arms, pointing at a screen, the next Din was saying goodbye to him, letting him see his face for the first time, while tears pooled across his vision before putting him down and letting the child waddle to Luke and the droid.

All eyes were focuses on Grogu as he exchange some sort of conversation with the beeping droid, before Luke’s eyes met yours.

“The force is strong with you too, Y/L/N”

“Just Y/N is fine.” you correct him, deferring his statement.

“Were you ever trained, Jedi?” he questions you, clearly noticing how unlike a Jedi your garments were - a beskar armor Din made sure to make buy you in Naboo as to protect you as much as possible, given the jobs you carried alongside him. It had cost him a great deal of credits but he didn’t want to hear a word about it. If it’s to keep you safe, I’d sell my own armor, he said.

���No?... I don’t know, I’ve just always felt The Force, I kind of taught myself everything I know."

“Have you ever maneuvered a lightsaber?”

You shook your head “No. Just blasters and spears.” 

“A Jedi must learned to use one.” You don’t like where this conversation is headed and you can see by the way that Din’s shoulders are tensing up, as he stands next to you, that neither is he.

“Do you know the dangers of being your age and untrained, Y/N?” look questions, eyeing you only.

“No.” Din cuts in abruptly, stepping in front of you in a protective manner, his frame towering over you completely cutting your form from Luke’s vision “You’re not taking her as well.”

You can hear the croak in his voice. He is still on the verge of tears but there’s anger in there as well. Luke wants to take his lover away.

You step out from behind him to his side, left hand on his shoulder, forcing his bowed head to look at you. Your eyes meet his and it’s as if every muscle in your body felt like floating up to space. This man melted you every time.

But you have to own up to yourself, looking up at him with eyes as if to exchange a message in a language that only the two of you spoke. As if saying I should go.

His lips tremble and he shakes his head.

“Not you too, cyar’ika.” he begs.

“Din...” 

“Don’t leave me. I’ve lost my home, my son, I - ... Please, don’t leave me” he grabs both of your hands in his, bowing his head and sniffing, as a single tear falls in the back of your hand.

The feeling of the wet drop in your hand opens your own gates, but only slightly, as you try to keep it together for the both of you.

“You don’t need to worry about me,”  you sniff, palming his cheek in your left hand “you have... plenty to figure out on your own.” you say touching the handle of the dark saber hanging from his gun belt.

“I don’t care about that piece of junk, I care about you.”

You wan’t to fight him back. You want to tell him how big of a deal that saber is and how much he should indeed care about it. But that wasn’t Din, that wasn’t Mando. He didn’t care about some stupid weapon or the status that it’d bring him. He went as far as to yield it to Bo-Katan as soon as he could, but unfortunately that’s not how it’s supposed to work. But he didn’t care. He only cares about the people he loves. And that made your heart ache all the most.

You are standing there, shaky breaths looking down at your hands, before sniffling and facing Luke.

“What happens if I go with you?” Din’s head shots up, looking at you,

“Given that you’re way past the normal age gap in which a Jedi is trained, you’d probably be assigned to a Master right away and they’d be responsible for all your training.” Luke explains, Grogu at his feet.

You nod and turn your head to look in Din’s eyes, your voice quieter now “And if I stay?”

“That’s... that’s not recommended as the grasp you have--” he starts

“What if I stay?” you insist.

“You’ll stay untrained, to put it simply. You’ll keep not understanding the dimension of your powers and the responsibilities that come with it. You might misuse it, you might not be able to control it and hurt the ones you love. You might kill without intending to, and you might turn to the dark side.”

“I would never - “ you interject, defending yourself

“It’s a faith you can’t control. Unless you train yourself. Unless you refine your skills.”

You ponder his words. The weight of both options dawning on you as you consider them.

“Even with me having a different Master from Grogu, will I still be able to make sure he’s okay?” you look at Grogu, adoringly. Who knew that little green ball of bald hair, if there even was such a thing, would become such a big part of your life. 

“Arrangements can be made, yes.” Luke assures you.

You nod your head to yourself, eyeing the floor. You have made your decision.

You grab both of Din’s hands once again, this time his are the ones in between yours and you grab them hard. Not as to hurt him but to comfort him about what he knew you were about to say. But before you can say anything he shakes his head, another tear falling down his right cheek.

“Please, no.” he breathes 

“It’s what’s best for everyone, Din.” you plead

“For everyone? I’ve lost my home, I’ve lost him, I can’t lose you too.” he takes a break to catch his breath, sniffling a few times “No, not you.”

“Din... let me go, please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“How can you ask me that?” He looks you in the eyes. Those sweet brown eyes and his furrowed brows, asking you how you can even dare to break him this way “Please don’t walk out of that door.”

“If I stay, I might hurt people and I - “

“You’d never do that. You care for everyone you meet you’d never hurt people.” he brings your hands up to his chest, planting them there. You can feel both his breathing and heartbeat.

“You heard Luke...I might not be able to control it.” you try to reason with him “Din, if I ever hurt you I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” 

He bites his bottom lip trying to keep it from trembling and you grab the back of his head, feeling his curls and pulling his forehead to rest against yours.

“Do you trust me?”

“What? Of course I do.” he says in less than a second

“Then please...” you breathe out“ trust that I’ll keep him safe. Trust that I’ll come running back to you as soon as I finish my training.”

Seeing the scenario unfolding in front of him, Luke decides to help you out “She might also act as a link between you and the child. The three of you are connected by a very strong bond and Y/N can act as a communication link.”

You look in his direction, silently thanking him.

“Din.” you whisper his name. Oh how sweet his name has always sound in your voice. Every time you’d call him his heart would flutter inside is ribcage, but he would never admit to that. But he understands you.

“It is for the best, isn’t it?” he whimpers quietly, barely above a whisper.

“It is. I know it hurts. Fuck, it hurts so bad, but it is.” 

Pulling slightly away from you, he reaches into his back pocket taking out something before offering it to you, on the side that is hidden from the other presences in the room.  He reaches down into his pocket taking out the sphere.  When he opens his gloved hand, you can see it’s the tiny sphere from the Razor Crest that Grogu loved so much.

“I want you to give him this.”

You shake your head, carefully closing your fingers over his “No.” 

“But the kid -”

“Din, keep it.” you know it’s the only thing that he’ll have to remember the kid “You’ll need it more than him.”

There is silence, at last. Only both of your altered breathings can be heard for a while until you notice Din’s hands shuffling at the bottom of your peripheral vision. Looking down, you can see that he is taking his gloves off and your brows furrow in confusion. 

Before you can process whatever was happening, his hands, his ungloved hands, come up to rest on both sides of your face and he holds you there. His hands are a little rough but you don’t mind - they are all the more warm and gentle as you feel his skin against yours. His thumbs wipe a few tears away from the corners of your eyes as they stare at him. His right hand slides slightly down from your cheek to your lips as he wipes your top lip, carefully, feeling the softness of them. His delicacy causing you to lean into his palm and placing your corresponding hand on top of his. 

He wanted to touch you. If this were the last thing he gets from you, he’ll be happy with it. Slowly, Din then dips his head to join your lips with his in a passionate but sweet kiss, your hands still on top of his, cherishing his touch as much as you could. Despite your eyes being close, you can tell he was crying just as much as you as you could feel tears that weren’t yours come in contact with your cheeks.

Pulling away, but not enough to separate your faces, your foreheads rest once again against each other. One of his hands finds it’s trail to where your heart would be and he rests it there, you doing the same to him with your opposite hand. Feeling each other's heartbeat, connecting. 

A few moments pass until you hear his voice again.

“This isn’t a goodbye is it?”

You shake your head slightly. “Not in a million years. We’ll both be back to annoy your ass before you can even notice.”

This causes him to give a half-hearted chuckle, yearning for the day when that happens. “If you come back-”

“When I come back...” you are quick to correct him.

“ When you come back, the first thing I’m going to do is make you my riduur, I promise you that much.” you squeeze his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. 

“And I promise you that I’ll say yes, in a heartbeat.”

His head shifts slightly and he rest his lips against your forehead, whispering the words that until a year ago he would’ve never dreamed of ever saying to someone, but that he has since said so many times. But only to a single person. Only to you,

“I love you.”

“I love you.” you assure him against his chest.

Taking a big breath in, you pull away taking a good look at him one last time. Until suddenly you feel a tug on the bottom fabric of your armor. Looking down you can see Grogu with his little arms up, gesturing for you to pick him up.

Laughing between the tears, you reach down and pick him up, facing Din. In any other occasion, one could interpret the way the three of you were standing as a mother holding her child, saying farewell as the father heads out to work. But this reality is so much more painful. In this reality you’re both the ones leaving, and what you leave behind has a wound that won’t be fixed for a long time.

Tilting your head close to the kid you prop him to say his goodbye “Say bye bye to Din.”

Grogu’s little 3-fingered hand shakes as much as his arms allow him to in front of him as he coos, probably thinking he was articulating an actual farewell. Before you can a step away, Din grabs the back of your head one last time, kissing you between your eyes, before letting you go.

You step in Luke’s direction, communicating through The Force how grateful you were with him for being so patient, and he nods in acknowledgment.

“May The Force be with you.” he says to Din, who nods his head.

The four of you turn to walk away, but Grogu manages to climb up your arms and stay looking at Din as he gets farther and farther away. When you all reach the elevator you turn to face him one last time, using the force for what you never did before - connect with him.

I will always let you know where we are.

And as his eyes soften, you hear a response.

And I’ll always be at the ready to fly to you.

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

Want a completely personalized imagine just for you? Click here!

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

[ourlastpage]

[ ewan mitchell, cis man, he/him. ] ✧･ﾟ is that [ blade stabbington ] who just stumbled into town? rumour has it that they’re the [ twenty-five ] year old child of [ patchy stabbington ] from [ tangled ]. i’ve also heard that they’re [ playful ] but [ unpredictable ] and have [ one ] sibling. i could almost swear i heard [ final boss - ethan bortnick ] playing when they appeared.

blade was abandoned in the woods by a mother that couldn’t afford to raise him, the baby almost devoured by wolves when the stabbington brothers — newly escaped from prison — happened upon the beasts. easily, they scared off the pack and took the baby; perhaps the child could be used as some sort of pawn or trade piece as there were plenty of people who wanted a baby but could not conceive. however, the short time spent with the baby had them growing attached due to them rethinking about the people they kept close. if they raised the child as one of their own, then it would not have reason to betray them as so many others had done before.

thoroughly decided, they officially adopted blade as their collective son — patchy took main responsibility over the child, however. they taught him how to hunt and fight, enforcing the need to be tougher than the forces that could hurt him or his family. blade loved how he grew up despite some of the hardships that came with it. his ‘dads’ weren’t very affectionate and made him learn his lessons the hard way, but he had freedom and fun. he particularly excelled at fighting, especially with knives. he has a fascination with the weapon and constantly tried to find excuses to push people into starting something with him. unfortunately, a mishap with his adopted ‘sibling’ — another adopted lost child under the main responsibility of sideburns — cost him an eye and earned him an eyepatch.

blade never held the incident against his sibling except when he wanted to guilt them into giving him something he wanted. but, from then on he grew more and more unhinged. there was a thrill that came with being in real danger and he wanted to feel it again. he started to go on reckless missions on his own under the guise of ‘helping the family’. no encounter so far has been challenging enough for him and he longs for a real fight.

         basics:             full name:  blade stabbington             nicknames:  n/a             gender:  cis man             pronouns:  he / them             sexuality:  bisexual             age:  25             occupation:  thief             species:  human

         appearance:             faceclaim:  ewan mitchell             height:  5'10’’             eyes:  blue             hair:  platinum blond             piercings:  n/a             tattoos:  n/a             other distinguishing features:  scarred eye covered by patch             style:  protected but refined

         personality:             traits:  playful, charming, unpredictable, aggressive             likes:  bladed weapons, fresh bread, fights             dislikes:  fish, thin clothes, flowers             fears:  not finding a worthy opponent             phobias:  n/a             hobbies:  tracking, needlework             skills:  fighting, hunting, leatherworking             quirks:  will lie to solely piss someone off             pet peeves:  authority

         family:             mother:  unknown             father:  patchy stabbington             siblings:  one             birth order:  n/a             spouse / lover:  n/a             children:  n/a             pets:  lizard named ‘scales’             notable close relatives:  sideburns and sibling/cousin

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 1:  Encounter

AN:  All right...we’re flipping the script with this series, hehehe.  Also, I’m doing MOSTLY similar vampire rules to the Investment series, but there’s gonna be some key differences to make things more...interesting. hehehe.

Listen, I’ve honestly had this idea for over a year, and it’s finally coming to fruition, I’m gonna be excited.

Tell me if you want tagged!

Characters:  Levi, Vampire!Reader, Numerous BG Characters

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Language...don’t really have anything else for this chapter

Word Count:  5616

Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Reader’s POV*

The sound of new recruits in the midst of combat training filled the air, a cacophony of moving feet, cries of attack, sounds of pain, accelerated heartbeats and the occasional shouted order from a supervisor.  The wind was strong enough to blow hair about your face, but not enough to be cutting, the sun beating down from above warm enough to drive away any chill from the wind.  The occasional sliding foot kicked dust up into the air, making it hard not to sneeze as your sensitive nose became agitated from all the dust in the air.  Your arms were held up in an at the ready stance, but your mind wasn’t entirely on the training that was happening in front of you.

The Survey Corps.  At long last, you managed to make it past your training in the Cadet Corps and choose your branch of the military to go into.  Despite the high death rate and the negative publicity the Survey Corps got, it had been your clear goal since day one.  It was the only place you felt you could go where you might feel useful, where these abilities of yours could finally be put to good use.

Of course, you weren’t through with the training phase quite yet.  The Scouts had their own tests to put the new recruits through, unique maneuvers and combat preparation that would also help determine where you were going to go within the regiment.  You still had to get past this sorting period, so you didn’t let yourself get celebratory yet.

But still, two years of hard work in the Cadet Corps, learning to readjust, learning your limits, refining mannerisms, careful planning and consideration into your every move.

Of course, that wasn’t what it looked like to your classmates.  To them, you were well aware that you were the cold and aloof antisocial bitch that would knock everyone to the ground like they were nothing in the combat training, and always kept everyone at a distance.

It wasn’t that you were hateful, far from it.  You just didn’t want to risk anyone getting too close to you while you were in the Cadets.  And it wasn’t your fault if the training came too easily for you--you couldn’t help your nature.  Hell, most of your focus had gone into holding back and restraining yourself since day one.  While you wanted to make an impression and prove your skill and worth in combat, you didn’t want to stand out too much and draw unwanted attention.  It had taken ridiculous amounts of concentration and effort, carefully planned throws on tests and combat evaluations, in order to purposely place at sixth in the top ten.  Skilled, but not a shining star that would get full attention.

But that first place spot could have easily been yours, if you didn’t have to be so careful about how you presented yourself.

As important as it was to do well in these tests to get properly placed somewhere you and your abilities could be of use, you still had to maintain the front of someone who ranked sixth, not suddenly display all the skill and strength that belonged to someone easily top of the class.  Not to mention, you were on a time limit for something far more important to your stay in the cadets for the long run.

This was your grace period to figure out what you needed to do in order to blend in with everyone else.  And not just in skill.  Your main concern was your food source.

Back in the cadets, in had started as a painful struggle, having to find ways to sneak out without anyone noticing so you could get a proper bite that would last you at least half a month.  The cadets had also been your trial by fire to see how well you could handle freshly spilled blood in front of you, though you were painfully aware that particular test was only going to get more difficult when you went out into the field and Titans started eating people.

Right now at the Scouts, though, you didn’t even have escape routes, predetermined, best routes to sneak out and get a drink without anyone noticing.  You hadn’t pinned down sleeping schedules for everyone yet, either, so you could figure out who you needed to be wary of when you were trying to sneak out.  If you couldn’t find good times to sneak out and the best ways to leave and return undetected, then your time with the Scouts would prove to be painfully short, for your own safety.

And you wanted to stay here as long as possible, for reasons that had taken root deep in your heart.

Of course, you still had to worry about the training and some basic parts of being a Scout, as well.  You were still frustrated with yourself for forgetting one of the simplest things--the horses.  Of course, you got a painful reminder when you entered the stables and the majority of the horses got nervous and skittish while the rest went wild.

Not everything was easy to you.  You now had to find and befriend a horse that you could hopefully keep with you that wouldn’t be afraid of the predator it could sense in you.  It was going to take time, and you were certain this oddity about you had already been noticed, but hopefully when you befriended one of the horses, any sparked suspicions would go away.

Then there was the ODM gear.  Obviously you could operate it, you wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t.  The problem was that your instincts and reflexes could happen faster than the gear could operate.  It made it difficult to slow down and operate it properly when you were running on instinct, and even after two years in the Cadets you were still trying to temper your natural instincts to slow down to something the gear could keep up with.  Though you had managed in your personal training time to also craft some maneuvers of your own that was more forgiving to your sharp reflexes and instincts, maneuvers that actually required more physical movement and less dependability on the cables.  The less you tried to do with the gear and more you did with your own body, the less of a chance you had to screw up a maneuver by going too fast for the gear to execute at a costly moment.

But out of everything in this grace period that was going to be the most difficult, it was the social aspect.  You always kept everyone at a distance because you didn’t want anyone to get close enough to find out what you were, or to risk them getting hurt.  As such, you usually came off as antisocial or rude, when really it was maddeningly lonely for you.  But what else were you supposed to do?  You didn’t even want to think of what kind of a disaster could unfold if you allowed yourself to get close to someone, they found out what you were, reacted negatively and then...and then what?  What were you supposed to do with a threat to your safety when it was someone you’d grown close to?

You shuddered at the thought every time it wandered into your mind.  This was one of your greatest concerns with being around people again, but now, you were in a situation where you were going to have to do the balancing act flawlessly anyway.  One thing you had learned watching the Scouts so far was that there was a degree of trust and closeness in the community.  Privacy was still a thing, obviously, and you didn’t have to be best friends with everyone...but people had to know you could be trusted, that you would have their backs out in the field.  You had to be amicable at the very least with people--you couldn’t keep them all pushed far away or give them a reason to think you might be hiding something.  You were going to have to start making friends with your comrades despite your reservations, but you couldn’t quite figure out how to start.

This was what you got for being a hermit living by herself for oh so long before coming back to the surface, back into daylight, back around people--

Your sparring partner shifted, and your eyes refocused slightly on the match in front of you.  It seemed he was going to be one of the many who had seen the glazed over look in your eyes and assumed they could get the drop on you because you weren’t paying attention.

Just like everyone else, he was about to find out how wrong he was.

As he charged you, you reacted rather instinctively, grabbing at his arm and sweeping his leg out from under him before sending him to the ground on his own momentum.

“How?” he fumed.  “You weren’t even paying attention!”

“You probably shouldn’t assume that of your opponent,” you returned calmly.  Just because you’d been lost in your own thoughts didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention.

Your partner wilted slightly, looking dejected, and you had to stop and do some mental math to figure out how long the two of you had been sparring.  It was probably best if you let him win this next one.  Both so you could break this perfect streak and so he could get a bit of his pride and confidence back.  Plus, you’d get to rotate to a new partner, and the cycle would start fresh.  He could probably use some time matched more evenly against someone anyway.  It wasn’t fair to anyone who got matched with you, even if they didn’t know it.

What were they supposed to do against someone they thought was human, that was anything but?

You fell back into your at-the-ready stance, watching him closely this time to make sure you knew exactly what he was going to do.  He came at you again, his feet planted firmly, form practically perfect--

--you shifted one of your feet so that you were standing just a little too wide--

--and this time as he tackled you, he was able to easily knock you off your feet.  Not too easily, you made sure there was enough resistance he found it believable, but for the most part, you let him knock you to the ground.

“Yes!” he cried successfully as he sprang back to his feet, the elation of finally receiving a victory causing his blood to rush in your ears.  You closed your eyes and took your time getting calmly to your feet, brushing yourself off as you regained control of yourself.

You’d had a brief spike of hunger with his blood pumping so close to you.  Thankfully, you had some practice controlling your thirst in these kinds of situations after so long in the Cadets.

While you were getting up, one of your overseers called for a switch in partners now that he had finally won a bought against you.  You got to your feet as your partner scurried away in relief, brushing hair from your face as you waited expectantly to see who would be matched up with you this time.

Unfortunately, it seemed someone had caught your throw this time.

Instead of another new recruit stepping in front of you, a well maintained shock of raven hair and sharp pale blue eyes entered your vision as Captain Levi himself approached, his gaze centered solely on you.

You’d known he was helping supervise the new recruits--all the squad leaders and section commanders were rotating through so they could get a feel for the new recruits and see if there was anyone specifically they wanted with them.  You hadn’t realized, however, that you’d caught his attention.  But instead of looking pleased, he seemed a little irked.

Quickly, you snapped to a salute, body tense for a few moments as you waited to see what he was going to say.  You already knew it wasn’t going to be praise.

“Throwing matches doesn’t help anyone,” Levi said bluntly, his sharp gaze fixated on you.

Fuck, he’d noticed that?  You supposed anyone paying close enough attention could catch it, but you’d hoped you were being subtle enough your throws would go undetected.

Then again, this was an entirely different field from the Cadets.  You were among the true elite, if you were going to put a bit of your bias in there, and if anyone was going to catch on…

You needed to be more careful.

“I felt he would benefit more from a different sparring partner, sir,” you said stiffly.  It wasn’t a lie--hell, anyone would do better if they were paired with someone other than you.  You didn’t mean for that to sound cocky, but it was the truth.  You were naturally designed to outmatch humans.

“You don’t seem to be putting much effort into this training, either.  Do you feel it’s beneath you, cadet?” Levi asked, his voice low.  Some of your old classmates that had come to the Scouts as well were letting their eyes wander to the scene in the middle of the training field, most likely looking forward to the frigid ‘slacker’ finally get what was coming to her.

“Quite the opposite, sir.  Titans aren’t the only threat in the world--you never know when you’ll need training like this,” you countered, meeting his gaze as you gave a reason that you’d once uttered to shut down the dismissal of other cadets for these person on person combat training exercises.  You had your own demons these kinds of moves could be used against, but there were also plenty of...unpleasant...people in the world.  You never knew when your life would be threatened by another person, and it was in those moments when you would want this kind of training.

Of course, with your reflexes and strength, it was easier to execute them.  Your learning process went into learning the techniques, and once you had that down, you really didn’t have much to worry about.

There was a spark of curiosity in Captain Levi’s eyes at your answer--apparently it hadn’t been a wrong one.  You recognized the training’s value instead of brushing it off like most people.  And most people who did realize its value usually didn’t state it openly like you just had.  Maybe you should have cut that last part out.

He still didn’t look pleased, though, which was understandable if his observations had led him to believe you weren’t taking this training as seriously as it should, that you were brushing it off.

“Then you wouldn’t mind showing me what you’ve learned.  I’ll expect perfection with that attitude of yours,” Levi said in a flat voice, taking a few more steps until he was standing opposite you.  There was a dangerous note in his voice, and you had the feeling he intended to make you take this sparring seriously, with full attention.

“Sir?”

Levi didn’t answer.  He fell into an at the ready position across from you, and you realized he wasn’t going to give you time to ask any more questions.  He was about to attack, and you had better be ready for it.

You finally dropped the salute that had loosened during your brief conversation, falling back into a similar at the ready position and feeling your attention start to sharpen.  Around you, people were turning their attention away from their training to see Captain Levi give the careless newbie a lesson.

A small part of you whispered that perhaps you should let him take you down right out of the gates, have him teach you the lesson and then move on, deal with the fact you’d made a poor impression on the captain of the Elite Squad.

You let out a slow breath, the world snapping into attention as you honed in on your opponent, Humanity’s Strongest.

Something inside you refused to lay down and take it.  You were going to at least show him that you had potential.  This was your moment to prove that it wasn’t all bravado and charades.  You had skill to back it up, you were capable, and you were not some slacker that wasn’t taking any of this seriously.  You were here to fight, to help in the push against the Titans,, no matter what anyone thought from their first impression of you.  You were here to stay.

Levi’s eyes flashed, and your body instinctively tensed for the oncoming attack as he darted forward with an almost inhuman speed.  You clamped down on your instinct to use your truly inhuman speed to step out of the way, instead choosing to block or at least re-direct the blow with his foot with your arm as you went low, ducking under the kick and coming up on his side.  Levi was already turning when you were halfway up, and his fist connected with your side, causing you to take a few steps back.

Shit, that hurt.  He really was going to teach you a lesson to take this seriously, wasn’t he?  If you didn’t want to end up beat to hell, you better be ready to show him you were learning.

And after the strength of that blow and the speed of his attack, you were going to have to put some actual effort into this.

Levi was already coming in again with another attack, fist cutting through the space between the two of you.  You turned your body aside to avoid it, knee coming up to try and get him in the gut.  He knocked it aside with his other arm as you blocked the one that had tried to punch you from coming at you again, grabbing onto his forearm and bringing yourself into his space.  You threw a punch of your own, still holding back to avoid seriously hurting him, but he blocked it just as quickly, the two of you grappling up close with a series of punches, blocks, and shifted feet before you decided to break away, fists still up and ready for a pursuit.  He kept using his small stature to get under your defenses and go after your weak spots, using momentum and your own weight against you.  But you were able to return in kind, upping the effort you put into your offense and defense with every block or failed hit.

You could hear his heart, which had started so steady and calm, starting to pick up from effort and exertion as well--so you weren’t the only one who had started to put effort into this fight.  You were both two combatants that rarely found someone on their level to fight, and now here you were.

A voice in the back of your mind screamed to stop and throw the fight before you gave away too much, but you couldn’t stop yourself, your own heart pounding with excitement.  When was the last time someone could actually challenge you?  Which one of you was actually capable of winning this fight?

Hell, you’d never thought someone human could stand toe to toe with you in basic hand to hand without bringing some dirty tricks to the match, but here you were.  As exciting as it was, there was also something strangely...relieving, about it.  Reassuring.

Levi’s knee flashed through your vision, and you had to lean back, hands coming down to meet it and stop the assault before it could connect with your chin.

Reflection could come later, right now...well, you should really be throwing this fight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.  You kept meeting his attacks and coming in with your own, no matter how much reason screamed at you to stop.

Suddenly, Levi switched tactics, and instead of coming in to hit you, he grappled you to the ground, the two of you now caught in a tussle to see who could pin the other and end this fight.  His arm started to snake around your throat, and you quickly placed an arm against your throat to break the incoming hold, dropping your shoulder with hands wrapped around his forearm to throw him over you.  He managed to keep his grip for the most part, but he was no longer in the position to choke you out from behind.

His heartbeat, as well as your own, continued to pound in your ears, telling you just how much you both were fighting.  This had rapidly changed from a lesson to be taught into a straight up match at some point, both of you fighting for dominance, with not a single peep from the onlookers as both of you started throwing in dirty tactics that looked more like skills learned on the streets than something taught in military training.

He’d landed some solid hits on you, easily bruising your body where he connected, but so had you.  Of course, you were still trying to be careful and not hurt him, but the longer this fight went on, the less restraint you showed, because all the while you were testing his limits, seeing how far you could safely go, and you had yet to see a sign that it had been to far.

At this rate, I wouldn’t mind this being a regular thing.  This is exhilarating.

In the scuffle, Levi ended up below you in the middle of a roll, and you took advantage of the position, leg planted firmly behind him near his head, arm grasping his and pulling it up, about to trap him in a position where he wouldn’t be able to move without breaking a limb.

You felt a tingle on the back of your neck as your eyes met.

Levi’s eyes widened in surprise.

Your ears perked at the first sign of whispers among your spectators.

“Is she...gonna beat Captain Levi?”

“I thought he was Humanity’s Strongest?”

“Some random cadet is gonna beat Levi?”

Your heart froze, even as your body kept moving.

He couldn’t hear the whispers, not that you felt he cared much about such a moniker, but you could hear, and you did care.  Levi knew he was about to be beat, you could see the flicker of realization in his eyes.  And right now, with both of you putting effort into this fight and no attempts to throw from you so far, he might pounce on an opening without seeing it for the throw it was.

Maybe.

Whether that was true or not, this fight had to end, and it had to end one way.

Your grip shifted slightly on his arm, your foot slid slightly to the side, and you changed your weight distribution, giving him a split second window he could still get out of this.  And just as you’d hoped, he took full advantage, breaking your grip on his arm and knocking you off balance with your now unsecure stance and uneven weight distribution.  As quickly as you’d started to pin him, Levi suddenly leapt on top, his arm pressed hard against your chest as you found yourself flat on your back, wind knocked out of you abruptly by the fast move.

In the brief second before Levi pulled away, you saw disappointment in his eyes.

Right.

This all started because he realized you were throwing fights.  And now you’d just thrown the fight with him.  Whether or not he knew why was up for debate, but what matters was he knew you threw it at the last second.

Levi got to his feet, brushing dirt off himself with distaste before he stared down at you with a face that looked perfectly controlled, though those eyes of his were gazing at you with a thousand thoughtful emotions that made you uneasy as you sat up.

“Put that effort into sparring with your comrades, and they might learn something,” he said dismissively, then turned and left the field, most likely to go clean himself up.

You got to your feet, expression hidden by hair that had fallen loose in the match.  Now that it was over, you were able to think more clearly, and you were chastising yourself thoroughly on the inside for such a stupid move.

Who cared if it had felt exhilarating to spar with someone on even ground?  Who cared if you hadn’t wanted to give him the wrong impression of you on what might have been his first time seeing you?  Who cared if the feeling of realizing there was someone out there that wasn’t what you were, that could fight you like that, was akin to not feeling so alone for the briefest second?

You shouldn’t have done that.  You weren’t supposed to be drawing that kind of attention to yourself.  It was sloppy and stupid and you could only see it resulting in trouble.  You should have thrown the match far earlier than when you had, you shouldn’t have given everyone the impression that you could take Levi’s title from him.

Because even if it could, even if you were able to best him in a fight, you shouldn’t.  Not in public, anyway, where word could spread and people started calling you the strongest instead.  It wasn’t right, and the thought made you feel dirty and ashamed.

A vampire shouldn’t have the title of Humanity’s Strongest.

*Levi’s POV*

Coming out of the bath with damp hair still hanging on his face and shirt not buttoned up yet, Levi let out a soft sigh and leaned against the wall beside his office window, hand brushing thoughtfully over a nasty bruise he’d gotten in that sparring match from the cadet, his mind lost in thought even as he started carefully buttoning up the shirt.

That...had not turned out like he’d expected it to.

When he saw her throw that match so cleverly after watching her act with such clear distance during the training, he’d been irritated at the thought that she wasn’t taking the training seriously.  Or that she might think throwing the fight helped her opponent somehow by making him think they’d won on their own merit.  They weren’t going to learn if they were allowed to win.  If anything, such a move hurt their progress more than it helped, so he’d intended to put a stop to that thinking before it got too far.  Besides, with how carefully she timed and planned that throw, she had to have some kind of real skill she was hiding.

What he couldn’t understand was why she would hold back.  Especially now, at the stage where the aptitude shown decided where each recruit would be tasked.

No matter what the reason behind it all, he’d felt a push was necessary to make her step it up and start trying.  Seeing her standing there appearing not to take any of it seriously had been irksome, and he wasn’t going to let it happen while he was on the training grounds.

As he’d thought, she’d sharpened up when he challenged her.  There was no far away glaze in her eyes when he stepped up to spar her, just unbridled focus and determination, perhaps even a bit of excitement.  For a moment, he’d despised it because he thought it was because she was one of those, so hell bent on impressing him, everything else be damned.  The kind of attitude that got people killed out in the field because they were too busy trying to impress instead of actually learn, that showed people to be nothing more than squabbling children who weren’t taking any of this seriously.

As the fight progressed and she started to show her true strength, though, it started to make more sense.

He could still vividly picture the shift in her demeanor, the glint in her eyes the second before their spar began.  How at that moment, he knew he was about to see if she was sitting on true potential and was paying attention, or was just blowing smoke up people’s asses and blowing it all off.

He’d been fully ready to knock her into the dirt in that first strike to knock reality back into her, but that wasn’t what happened.  He’d been genuinely surprised when she managed to block and keep up with him, even more with how well she was able to return what he gave her.  Quickly he’d abandoned the thoughts of teaching an arrogant cadet a lesson and instead started to prod at her capabilities, intrigued and impressed with what he found.  Being able to spar with someone on such even ground was a rarity, and he’d found the experience rather...exhilarating.

She was faster and stronger than she appeared, just like him.  She was also quite clever--predictably, considering the care she’d put into throwing her matches--and had clearly been paying attention to the taught techniques.  However, when he’d thrown something street learned and not taught by the military, she hadn’t flinched, and pulled a few underhanded street fighting techniques of her own.

Which gave him a peek at her background, as well.  If he was to look, he would bet his salary that he would find that she got into some kind of trouble in the past--the illegal kind.

Several of her blows had, clearly, hurt, which told him she wasn’t holding back anymore--at least not as much.  A part of him could tell, through their whole fight, that there was still something she was holding back with, just like he was.  He hadn’t tapped into that strange power of his, not fully, and she had also kept herself from using her full potential--something tipped off by the fact her attacks had been getting progressively faster and harder.  Of course, in a spar, you weren’t supposed to go all out--for example, neither of them were trying to do anything lethal.  But even then, she was sitting on something.

Now he was fairly confident the reason she’d been holding back on the others had been to avoid hurting a comrade by accident.  That he couldn’t fault her for, but she still shouldn’t have been throwing the fights.  They needed to learn, and making them think they’d won didn’t help them.

Of course, there was also the glaring fact of how she’d ended that fight.

He had definitely been shocked the moment he’d realized she was about to pin him.  Of course it hadn’t been anywhere in his mind that a younger rookie would beat him in a spar--before today he would have thought that kind of suggestion was madness.  But she’d done it, and for the briefest moment, just before she would have pinned him, he saw the faintest red glimmer in her eyes.

Then some kind of realization hit her, she seemed to register she was about to win as well, and she’d shifted.  At first, he’d thought she’d simply hesitated, that her unbalance had come from getting inside her own head in the middle of the fight, and he had pounced on that opportunity.  There was another part of that moment that was worrisome to him, though.

For some reason, he’d reacted off a survival instinct, even though he was well aware that it was a spar.  It hadn’t been a mere moment of ‘I want to win this fight,’ but a split second where he felt like an eagle pinned down by a horned owl, where natural instinct told him if he didn’t break free…

But of course...it had just been a spar, no matter what the novel moment had made him feel for a split second.

Of course, once he had her pinned beneath him, he realized how easy the motion had been--to easy for someone who was a hair’s breath away from being pinned and the fight being over.  And he could tell from the look in her eyes, the dulling of that sharp gaze and the distance in her posture, that she’d thrown the fight.

Again.

Of course he was disappointed.  The entire spar had started because she’d been throwing matches with her fellow recruits, and at the last second, when she would have pinned even him and proven what she was capable of, she backed off.  She held back.

The only two who knew she really won that fight was him, and her.

He knew she’d been holding back the whole time.  That she threw at the end.  That there was a dangerous edge to her.  That even if he went all out, there was a chance she could take him.

Levi looked out his office window, which overlooked the training grounds that were now empty after combat training had finished.  Why did she do it?  Why did she throw the fight?  Why was she hiding her potential instead of showing what she was truly capable of?  What did she want to hide, and why was she trying to hide it?

Who was she?

Did she have a power similar to his own?

Did he want her on his squad?  That question he was far more unsure about, because while her raw skill alone tempted him to recruit her to the Elite Squad, something stirred uneasily in his gut about her.  From the look in her eyes, that glint, that moment of survival instincts kicking in, all the unknowns...

There were too many questions and too many unknowns about her right now.  He wasn’t about to act hastily.  First, he needed to learn what he could about this new recruit, ask around and keep an eye on her from a distance.  Once his questions were answered…

Well, that all depended on what he would find after some digging.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @humanitys-hottestsoldier @clary-quinn @sunny-flo​ @whalerus 

[ibijau]

Concubine nhs / on AO3

Hey! It’s been over a year! but I’ve updated this! Miracles do happen!

The letter arrives just a week after Nie Mingjue and the emperor’s visit (a visit so brief that both were long gone by the time everyone woke up, having foregone sleep and hurried toward the capital to organise the now inevitable war), and its contents are a surprise to everyone. Certainly, Nie Huaisang is the most shocked of all to be invited to the capital by a cousin of his father who currently holds a high office in the imperial administration. The surprise is greater still when, upon reading the letter, his father finds subtle hints that the request is not to be denied, as it is the emperor’s own desire.

It has to be Nie Mingjue’s doing, they both agree. Now that the war is there, he must have asked his childhood friend to ensure the safety of his bastard brother. Qinghe is far too close to the border after all, while Gusu is far away from the fight and as safe a place as can be. 

Father is not happy with this turn of event. He complains that Nie Huaisang was only starting to be useful to the house, that he had hoped to rely on him to organise supplies to the troops and to keep their house safe while Mingjue and him would be on the frontline. He speaks of scolding his oldest son for being selfish, and even half accuses Nie Huaisang of having organised this to avoid his duties, in spite of being so generously legitimised. In the end though, Father can’t go against an imperial order, and Nie Huaisang is sent away the very next day, having barely been given any time to pack for what might be a long stay in the capital.

It is a long trip to Gusu, made longer by the use of a carriage. Nie Huaisang is not a skilled enough rider to travel so far on horseback. His father had never seen the point of letting him learn until recently, stating a servant had no need for it. As slow days pass, Nie Huaisang entertains himself by chatting with his own servant (a man who until recently was not just his equal but his superior due to seniority), by admiring the landscape (it is his first time leaving Qinghe and its mountains, and the plains they traverse fill him with unease until they approach Gusu and new mountains save him from the oppressive flatness), and by wondering what will become of him in the capital.

Although they’ve all been quick to blame Nie Mingjue, as he travels toward Gusu and falls prey to boredom, Nie Huaisang allows himself to form another theory regarding his sudden summoning. It is only a fantasy, a silly idea, but he cannot stop thinking about that handsome young man with the mismatched robes he’d seen in his brother’s room that night. He had introduced himself as being part of the imperial family, and was of an age with the emperor, so he might have just enough influence to make a request to the son of heavens. For example, a request to have a certain seventeen years old bastard sent to the capital so they can continue their conversation.

It’s ridiculous, and Nie Huaisang sternly scolds himself whenever his thoughts go in that direction. But he cannot help himself. That young man had smiled so nicely, he’d laughed at Nie Huaisang’s weak jokes, he’d been much more polite than anyone ever bothered to be, and he’d said that he hoped to see him again. Wouldn't it be a lovely story if Nie Huaisang had made such a strong impression? He’s certainly thought a lot about that young man, even before the letter arrived. That imperial relative had been so handsome, his mouth so made to be kissed. His personality had been pleasant as well. 

In short, Nie Huaisang only wants the chance of a second meeting, and he’s quite certain he could fall in love with that handsome stranger.

-

Nie Huaisang’s cousin welcomes him with little warmth, but that’s only to be expected. On his only recent visit to Qinghe, Nie Funyu has made it quite clear that he does not approve of his relative’s decision to elevate a mere bastard, and a servant’s son at that, to the position of legitimate son. So after perfunctory welcomes, some exchanges of gifts, and the usual questions about everyone’s health, Nie Funyu abandons Nie Huaisang to the care of his personal servant, a young man by the name of Meng Yao.

Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang immediately strike a great friendship, in spite of their difference in status. It is something Nie Huaisang knows he will be scolded with, but he sympathises too much with servants, and forgets he no longer is one. Still, it would be hard not to like Meng Yao who shows him around the house, gives him rules to follow, advises him how to best please his uncle, and even shares some news about Nie Mingjue. They’ve missed each other, it turns out; Nie Mingjue left the capital only two days before his brother arrived, unable to delay his return to the border a moment longer.

That first morning is quite pleasant. Then, after a refined lunch, Meng Yao informs Nie Huaisang that he has been instructed to urgently take him to buy a better set of robes. The ones he’s brought are his best ones, but while they’re good enough for Qinghe, they just won’t do for Gusu, and especially not for a presentation to the emperor. How the emperor already knows that Nie Huaisang is in the capital, or indeed why he should care, is a mystery to both of them. But a message has already reached Nie Funyu’s house that his young cousin is to come to the imperial palace the next day, so the emperor might see for himself the younger brother of his dear friend Nie Mingjue.

It is not to be a formal meeting. After all Nie Huaisang holds no office, he is nobody, so there is little need for him to be introduced to the emperor the way a true son of noble blood would be. Instead, Nie Huaisang is encouraged to be present in a certain garden with his cousin at a certain hour, where the emperor might see him, and perhaps even acknowledge his presence, provided that nothing more important comes up.

That Meng Yao finds suitable robes on such short notice says a lot about his skill. Nie Huaisang, who had briefly wondered how a man barely three or four years older than himself could have become such a high ranking servant in so noble a house, finds his question answered and promises himself to learn from his new friend, so he can better serve his father when he returns home. To make it better, the robes that Meng Yao found are gorgeous. They’re second hand, since nothing new could have been found under such a delay, but they fit Nie Huaisang wonderfully, and make him look like he is worthy of being his father’s son. 

Nie Huaisang’s vanity is only increased the next morning when Meng Yao takes it upon himself to help with his hair. Nie Huaisang has always done that on his own, and his servant is not trained into that sort of task, so he is again grateful to Meng Yao for his help, especially when he’s so nervous that his hands tremble.

“What sort of man is the emperor?” Nie Huaisang asks as Meng Yao crafts elegant braids into his hair.

“Master says he is very wise for his age, and knows to carefully listen to his advisors before making decisions. He does his best to be impartial, and to listen to all sides of a story before passing judgement. Truly we are blessed to have such an emperor, he is far more dedicated to his people than his father was.”

“But as a person?”Nie Huaisang insists, chewing on his bottom lips. “Is he nice? He has to be, or Mingjue wouldn’t like him so much, but…”

Meng Yao smiles as he gathers the braids into a bun, and secures an elegant guan upon Nie Huaisang’s head, making him look like someone who isn’t him. Like someone who knows how to give order without doubting they'll be obeyed, and who has never cleaned a single pot in his life.

“Young Master Nie need not worry about the emperor’s personality,” Meng Yao says, stepping back to admire his work with a critical eye, before pulling in his robes a little here, straightening his collar there. “Young Master Nie is unlikely to have any occasion to meet his imperial highness after today. Even this encounter today will only happen as a mark of favour to your brother, and his imperial highness will most likely only address my Master, as you are not of a rank to be taken notice of.”

That is enough to quiet Nie Huaisang’s nerves a little. Enough at least to eat something and drink some tea before they set out toward the imperial palace. On the way there, Nie Funyu gives him a dozen orders, telling him how to conduct himself, how to stand, where to look, how to speak. It is clear he expects Nie Huaisang to make a fool of himself, and he might be right, but Nie Huaisang is determined to try his best to please everyone. Without Meng Yao’s comforting presence to calm him, his nerves are getting the better of him again, though it helps to remind himself that the emperor doesn’t care one bit about him. 

But also, if that young man with the pleasant smile is there, if he looks at Nie Huaisang, if he smiles at him again…

A foolish hope, when so many people live in the imperial palace. But it is a hope to which Nie Huaisang clings desperately. If they should meet again, if they could become acquainted… It is all Nie Huaisang really thinks about as his cousin and him head for the garden where they’ve been ordered to go, as they wait for the emperor to appear. 

At the time given to them, the emperor comes for a walk, heading their way. He is a young man, not much older than Nie Huaisang himself, but that much he already knew, since the son of heavens only came of age that year. What Nie Huaisang didn’t know, what he could never have imagined, was that the emperor should have such a warm smile, or that he would look even more beautiful when he isn’t soaked from heavy rains and wearing mismatched robes.

-

What passed during that brief meeting, Nie Huaisang could hardly say. He remembers only that the emperor smiled at him, called him by his name, and expressed the wish to become better acquainted with him, perhaps over a game of weiqi someday.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t know what he said in answer. He thinks he accepted both the offer of friendship and the invitation to play, if only because to refuse would have been impossible.

He doesn’t see the dark expression on his cousin’s face as they head back home, and barely hears the questions asking if he’s met the emperor before, where, what he said, what the emperor said. Nie Funyu isn't happy with the answers he's hearing, but Nie Huaisang hardly notices that either.

“Your father will have to be notified of this immediately,” Nie Funyu says when they are home again. “If the emperor has that sort of plans… well, the timing is not bad. We need his full support, and this isn’t a bad way to obtain it. Tomorrow you’ll go again with Meng Yao to buy another set of new robes. He’ll know how to dress you to your advantage.”

Nie Huaisang, touched by such generosity, can only nod and thank his cousin, before asking to be excused for the afternoon. It has been a while since he’s had a worthy opponent while playing weiqi, he wants to read about strategy to refresh his memory.

He also wants to be alone, just so he can laugh at himself a little.

To think that for weeks now, he’s been daydreaming about kissing the emperor! It’s the funniest thing in the world, and it should be a good lesson to him about letting silly emotions get out of control.

After all the emperor might be handsome, and he might have a pleasant smile, but he’s the emperor, and quite out of reach for someone like Nie Huaisang.